Home Is a Person
by DrunkOnJerichohol
Summary: Life doesn't afford the valuable opportunity to see a situation from all sides and, as a result, misunderstandings are born. This is a bird's-eye glimpse into the heartache that stems from the lack of insight into the emotions of those closest to us.


******Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Any and all original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

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**A/N: **Each chapter of this story will be told from both Chris _and_ Stephanie's points of view. To clear up any confusion, both parts are the exact same scene playing out, however, the first time through will be Chris's take on it, while the second time through will be Stephanie's take on the very same events. This will be the set-up for each of the chapters that follow.

* * *

**Chris**

* * *

In her arms, I'm whole - - loved, fulfilled, and complete.

The particularities that form the greater composition of who she is link expertly with my own characteristics, and that's how I've known all this time we were meant to be. _Were_. That's a difficult word to say, because it's past tense and blackens out any chance of the future I might have been given the gift of spending with her. I don't know how or where we went so wrong, and I get the distinct impression Stephanie isn't entirely aware either. To me, she represented safety and contentment, and I knew her better than anyone else alive, and definitely more intently than the back of my own hand.

I now resort to loving Stephanie from afar, with each seconds that ticks by on the clock, day in and day out. It occurred to me a few months back that I wish I hated her, because that's a much less difficult emotion to contend with. I couldn't ever hate her though - - it's an impossible feat. I've been attracted to strong women as long as I can remember, and if our relationship had been a caste system, I'd like to think of myself as a lowly peasant in comparison to the warrior goddess she was, and still is. I'm in love with the woman - - the bold, outspoken, intrepid being that is Stephanie McMahon - - and I don't ever mince my words, not where it concerns her.

In fact, my undying love for Stephanie is what brought me to the Silver Dolphin Seafood restaurant today.

I don't even like seafood, but at this point, I'd eat the greasy, picked over morsels straight out of a McDonald's bag that spent the past three nights in a crusty dumpster if it means I get to see her. I know I sound far gone, a little _too_ eager to please my ex, but I don't think anyone who understands Stephanie's beauty can blame me. My car keys jingle in my hands as I flex my hands around them and duck my head to gaze up at the restaurant building from my driver's seat. I want to go in so I can reserve a table for us, but my legs are paralyzed by...fear? Nerves? Lack of preparation?

I scoured the parking lot immediately upon pulling in, searching everywhere for even the faintest sign of her vermillion Hummer and was disappointed not to find it waiting for me. Stephanie's audacious choice in vehicles is only another point that speaks to how powerful she is, be it by design or alternate means. As usual, Princess Stephanie - - and I use that epithet with the utmost respect for her - - is late. Her high-maintenance qualities were what I often enjoyed seeing in her, because it allowed me to spoil her to my heart's content, which I have the enormous wealth to do, without question.

Darkness is falling quite rapidly, and I'm relieved, because I'd much rather observe the twinkling stars than the drab gray sky on grand display for all to behold. Fog is sneaking in, like the unwanted guest it is, and diminishing all objects in its path, which only adds to the rather gloomy day. The general atmosphere is reminiscent of a scene pulled from a horror flick, and as a shiver rolls down my spine at that thought, I realize I'm too chicken to stay in the car by myself, so I push open my door. I'd rather be in the company of strangers in a restaurant than stuck in the fog with that odd, somebody's-watching-me type of vibe, but then I remember I'm waiting on Stephanie and don't want her walking through the haze all by her lonesome.

I brave the lingering puffs of fog all for her and stroll to the back of my car after closing the driver side door, where I stand with both hands in my pockets as I await her arrival. There are so many words unspoken, so many feelings I need to sort through and express to her, and I'm hoping this dinner will be an avenue that leads to that. I was the one who invited her, so I need to be the person to prove that giving into my offer is worth her while and that it wasn't a mistake for her to agree to having dinner with me. Two shining beams come at me from the rising mist, without warning, and the light hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention until the headlights I'm seeing grow closer and I make out the broad structure of her vehicle.

She's facing straight ahead, tapping her thumbs against the steering wheel as she purses her lips in search of a free parking space, and I find myself looking for one out of instinct. I spot one towards the end of the row I'm parked in, but when I turn back to point it out to her, she's already got her index finger extended in that direction to let me know where she's going. I nod, and she does the same but pauses for a moment, her eyes locking with mine. Those eyes, good God, those heavenly, ash-blue eyes make me buckle at the knees every time, but in the seconds it takes to formulate that thought, she's already pulling away towards the open spot.

I remain leaning against my car, as if it's somehow morphed into my security blanket, and wait for the first sign of Stephanie. I hear a car door shut down the way, and I can make out the very top of her head as she steps onto the curb and comes down the walkway to meet me. Stunning isn't a big enough word to describe her appearance, but my stomach sinks when my eyes trail up to her face and find an apprehensive frown creasing her brow. She experiences a wide range of emotions, just like anyone else does, but Stephanie isn't typically one to display them for all the world to see, and I feel as if showing her vulnerability is a silent cry for help she's waiting for me to answer.

She slows as I round my car, and I join her on the walkway and extend my arms. "I can still expect hugs from you, can't I?"

"Only if I still get them from you," she replies. She bares her teeth, in what I suspect she wanted me to see as a smile, but it only comes off as a grimace. We've lost our sense of ease with one another, and as I envelop her in a hug, I can't help but think I should have put a stop to it a long time ago. I should have stopped Stephanie the second I felt our bond fading out, but I chose silence and, ultimately, a life of solitude.

I pull away and rub up and down her arms in quick succession, something I'm used to doing when it's chilly outside and I want to warm her up. I was going for a seamless action, but her silence and absence of eye contact throws it more on the awkward end of the spectrum. "So, are you ready to go inside?"

"It beats standing out here in the fog," she says, adjusting the gold clutch purse in her hand before motioning towards the door.

An amused gleam forms in her eyes, and I'm instantly calmed by its arrival. As long as she's happy, I can be happy - - or at least fake it really well. Always the gentleman, I return her motion to let her know she should go first, and when she reaches the door she pauses, reading me like a book. She remembers my habit of opening any and all doors for her when we were together, and a simple change in relationship status isn't going to be enough to affect that.

"Ladies first," I murmur as I pull the door open and she steps inside.

I hear faint words of appreciation spoken from Stephanie and follow her inside, where we're seated within minutes. The hostess brings us to an open booth, and I do that whole awkward thing where I don't know whether to wait until Stephanie sits and scoot in next to her or whether I should sit on the opposite side by myself. There's no question I need to be close to her, but I have to respect Stephanie's space, and she might not want me right beside her. I hesitate a second too long, and I _know_ she notices my indecisiveness, because I see a rather negative shift in her body language.

Her eyes narrow to slits for what couldn't be more than a few seconds, and she scoots from her spot in the middle of her side of the booth all the way to the outer corner, so there's no chance of me possibly squeezing in next to her. I take my cue from her gesture and sit on the other side of the booth by myself, accidentally nudging her foot underneath the table as the waiter hands us our menus. She flinches but doesn't say anything, and we give our drink orders before being left alone to glance over the menu items, and possibly do a little brooding over each other as well. My intent is not to start an argument in the middle of a busy restaurant before we can even have a chance to discuss our unfinished business, but I just _have_ to ask her why she's treating me like this.

"We agreed to come here together, so we should at least act like we like each other and have some fun."

She peers up at me from her menu without raising her head, "How funny you should say that. Maybe try taking some of your own advice, Chris, what do you think about that?"

"All right, never mind," I wave her off, but Stephanie isn't one to be overlooked. There is no way she will back down without making sure I know how she feels, and the fire blazing in her eyes is physical proof of that. She shuts her menu and slaps it down on the table in front of herself, drumming the fingernails of her right hand over the top of it. "Look, I didn't come here to get into it with you. I came because we needed to talk."

"Well, that's not the vibe I'm getting," she says.

I don't know what more she thinks I can do, short of whisking her off to a faraway land, where we can spend our days feeding each other strawberries and whipped cream in front of the rushing waves on the beach. I orchestrated this night with the sole intent to see if there might be a chance I could get Stephanie back, but nothing is ever good enough for her. No matter how much effort I put in, it falls short, and I'm quickly tiring of the whole tedious routine. It's the exact same formula every time: I make an effort, Stephanie doesn't appreciate it, and Stephanie gets pissed. I want to be enough for her, but I don't anticipate filling that role when all I know is how to be _me_.

She's made it clear numerous times she doesn't want that.

"I bust my ass to do nice things for you, but nothing is ever good enough. What else do you want from me, Stephanie? You tell me exactly what you want, and I'll do it."

Stephanie cuts her eyes at me, though they may as well have been cutting straight through my resolve to get her back, "I shouldn't have to tell you. You should know."

"I really don't want to get into—"

"Can I interest you in this evening's specials?" the waiter asks as he places our drinks down on the table.

I resist every urge in my body telling me to stand and slap the hell out of him. If it weren't for the possibility that I could be arrested for assault, I just might go through with it, that is, until I realize he's not the person I'm angry at. The worst thing I can do is project my frustration with Stephanie onto an innocent bystander, so I take a deep breath and nod, giving the waiter the okay to run down the list of food items, while I fight valiantly to shut off my racing thoughts. When he finishes his speech, I order the last meal he mentioned to move this along as quickly as possible. Stephanie decides on something else she found in the menu, and when he leaves, we're alone once more.

"I didn't want to fight with you, Steph," I tell her. It's the absolute truth, even if she doesn't believe it. She crinkles her nose and sniffles, staring straight through me. This is exactly why we never worked out. She wants me to be some spectacular genius who can figure out her every need without ever having to be told. "All I'm saying is I'm not a mind reader, and if you want something, I need you to tell me what it is."

"You need to know what I want? Isn't it a little bit late for that?"

"No, it's never too late for us to be together if we think we can work this out," I speak deliberately but quietly, not wanting the other patrons to overhear us. A buzz is starting to rise in the room, and the repeated glances and hushed whispers I'm receiving from the other diners lets me know I've been found out. It's not easy being Chris Jericho, but someone's gotta do it, and I can't carry on a serious discussion to win my girlfriend back when I've got everyone watching and probably straining their ears for the slightest hint as to what we're talking about. Picking up right where we last left off, Stephanie reads my mind and assures me we're on the same wavelength, at least generally speaking, which is comforting to know.

"We can't talk about this here. Let's just have dinner and we'll talk when we get back to your hotel room."

"That sounds like a plan," I agree.

The situation allows additional time for me to mull our relationship over and figure out how I'm going to sweep the woman I love off of her feet, and I'm thankful for what has turned out to be a blessing in disguise. I don't have the details sorted, but I'll get Stephanie back one way or another. I'm desperate to find my way back home, and I'm not capable of accomplishing that without her. A sturdy structure - - complete with ceilings, walls, and floors - - may be most people's general idea of a home, but it's not mine. Homes come in many forms, and my natural dwelling is wherever I happen to be when I'm with the remarkable woman in front of me.

Home isn't a place.

Home is a person, and her name is Stephanie.

* * *

**Stephanie**

* * *

In my heart is where he remains for eternity - - loved, cherished, and treasured.

As I steer down the clogged streets of Los Angeles, hands at 10 and 2, I formulate a plan as to how I want to come off when I see Chris. We're not dating any longer, but we're still toeing the line between friends and lovers, seeing how much we can push one another's boundaries. I hurt when I'm not with him, but in many ways, our break-up still seems like it was all just a bad dream that hasn't fully come to fruition yet. We spend so much time together, even after we vowed to be apart, that it's almost still not real to me, and I suspect Chris feels the same way most of the time.

We share a timeless love, and perhaps that's why neither of us are too broken up over the loss of our relationship. We know it's impossible to lose what we have and that we'll be back together someday, so the loss we experienced this time around was greatly diminished. The questions remains as to why we broke up at all if the love we have is as strong as I'm making it out to be, but the basic amount of structure required to have a long-lasting relationship concerns so much more than a single emotion, and love isn't often enough on its own. The issue is that Chris pulls away from me, when I need him to do the exact opposite, and it broke us.

I try so hard to be close to him and aim for a greater commitment, but the effort is as tumultuous as exploring the ocean too far from the shoreline and finding myself fighting against a raging current. Chris thinks I come between his friends and he, an opinion he hasn't yet worked up the courage to voice aloud, but it wouldn't make much difference, because I already know he's thinking it. I'm the type of person who can get along with anyone, even a complete jerk of a human being, but the behavior of his bandmates is beyond reprehensible and I won't put up with it. I might not come down so hard on the guys if it weren't for the fact that I don't enjoy Chris's playing in a band to begin with.

Chris is to me what the planets are to our universe. I hold him more dear than anyone, and each time we're together, my hearts swells more than I ever guessed it had the capacity to. When I look into his eyes or his lips touch mine, we connect in a way that makes me feel comfortable in saying, definitively, that we're soul mates. I've always said I needed Chris, and I do - - that fact simply won't change. The systematic events of my life, if I concentrate hard enough and connect them all, led me straight to Chris, and I have no doubt I was born so we could have each other.

I'm accepted wholly and at once by Chris, but I need him to understand our time is dwindling down, and if he wants our relationship to resume and lead past dating, he's going to have to work with me. The first step is to compromise and toss away that which he doesn't actually need to hold onto. Right at the top of that list, just begging to be checked off, are Fozzy and his assorted Hollywood gigs. Each time he walks away from the WWE to conquer another task, I'm left alone to wonder what he's doing and who's he's doing it with. When Chris is gone, our relationship runs cold and becomes static, with no indication of ever moving past whichever point we last left off at.

I feel neglected occasionally, like his friends and concerts are more important than anything we could ever have. When I try to explain these thoughts, Chris becomes defensive right away and changes the subject, as if I won't notice he's avoiding my questions. I don't want him to give Fozzy up for good, because being in bands is something he's partaken in since he was 12, and he shouldn't have to lose a part of himself for me. At the same time, it wouldn't kill him to take a break so we can have a period of respite to figure out what we are and where we need to go. I don't want to be a part of a dawdling relationship while he goes out and parties it up.

Chris wants the best of both worlds, but that's not an offer I'm willing to extend.

Some might wonder why_ I_ don't compromise a little as well, but the thing is, I've tried at least a dozen times, and each time it flopped was a direct result of an outsider's childish behavior. Rich has this odd vendetta against me, and I don't care to know why, but whenever I make the trip overseas with Chris so we can spend extra time together, something always goes wrong because of him. It could be a dead bug in my travel bag or lotion in my shampoo bottle, but I've had it with going on the road with a bunch of goons. Chris brushes it off and tells me they're doing it all in good fun, a hazing ritual to help welcome me to the group, but it seems I'm always the only person who's not laughing.

This all begs the question as to what I'm hoping to accomplish this evening. I'm braving the unpredictable Southern California traffic and heading to the Silver Dolphin Seafood restaurant, all so I can see Chris and discuss what we might have together in the future. If I can convince him to take a hiatus with his band and discontinue his search for jobs in Hollywood, there may be a chance he'll continue his break from wrestling and spend that additional time with me. I can't carry on a relationship with a man who's never with me, so there has to be some give and take here, and he's gotta be willing to at least meet me halfway.

The real trouble is, I don't know how to break the suggestion to him, because I'm fairly certain it will only result in another argument. We're tethered to one another on a rope, with me pulling Chris in my direction with all my might, but he's constantly fighting against my tugs and backing away. I don't know where his fear developed, but it's a classic example of why our dinner tonight is going to be so important. I check my radio clock as twilight falls over the dreary sky, and note that the intense fog rolling in from the coast isn't helping matters, in terms of visibility.

By way of some miracle, I spot the sign of the restaurant Chris is probably already waiting for me at. Whenever it comes time for us to meet up somewhere, he's always one step ahead, whereas I come stumbling in late. Punctuality is only my strong suit when I'm at work or making a work-related appearance, but in my free time, all bets are off as to when I'll make my grand arrival. I drive through the light and slow enough to pull into the left turn lane, pulling into the restaurant parking lot when the coast is clear. I spot him right away, hands in his pockets, as he stands looking around like a lost little puppy dog.

It occurs to me I probably look a little lost as well, and that's the exact opposite of the type of impression I want to leave on Chris, so I look away and pretend I'm focusing on a parking spot. I begin drumming my thumbs against the steering wheel, hoping the action will reduce my nervous jitters, and then I turn to Chris and point the spot out so he knows where I'm going. His hand raises slightly, as if he might have been planning to wave, but he drops it back down at his side and ends up nodding instead. I return the gesture and find myself staring into those mystical blue eyes, the same ones I've gazed into so many times before.

His shirt is white with a large cross emblem on the front, and the sleeves hug his biceps in all the right ways. I'm practically salivating at the scrumptious sight until I remember I'm staring, so I face forward once more to make it to my parking space before someone steals it. I shut my car off after pulling in and grab my purse, getting out right away, even though I wish I had more time to gather myself. Chris makes me a nervous wreck when we're not actively in a relationship, because I feel as if he's judging every single action I make, in an attempt to decide whether or not he wants to be with me at any point in the future.

After I exit my vehicle, I step onto the curb and start towards him, but I can feel his eyes on me and I hate it. I don't want to be studied like a book, and I wish he would focus on the early evening sky or perhaps the fog - - anything besides me. All I can think about is how I don't want to screw this up and lose the only man I've ever known was right for me, and I'd hate for my worry to be showing on my face, but as he watches me, with all the concern of a mother after having seen her child fall down, I know he sees it. I'm not always as good at camouflaging my feelings as I wish I could be, so I resort to holding out hope Chris won't mention my rattled confidence.

As Chris rounds his car, he doesn't take his eyes off me for a single second, and the closer he gets, the more nervous I grow. I'm not sure how to properly greet an ex-boyfriend, so I don't know if I'm supposed to give him a hug or stop at a friendly wave. Luckily, he takes the initiative and walks towards me with open arms as he says, rather cheekily, I might add, "I can still expect hugs from you, can't I?"

His question catches me slightly off-guard, and I bare my teeth in an attempt to look amused, but I can't seem to get my muscles to agree with me and form a real smile. Still, I answer right away, "Only if I still get them from you," as I lean in and cling to his strapping body. I barely manage to contain myself enough not to reach down and squeeze his firm behind, just for old time's sake.

His arms are safety, and I want to stay wrapped in them forever, but he begins pulling away and I follow suit, not wanting to be the one weirdo left clinging desperately to the other. He's just as handsome as I remembered, but I make out some exhaustion lines around his eyes that I'm almost certain are a result of his all-work-and-no-play attitude. Actually, I should amend that statement, because Chris definitely _does_ play a lot, but he takes great pride in his work and isn't one to take a break. I assume we're about to go inside, but he begins rubbing his hands up and down my arms in that way he always does whenever we're outside and it's chilly.

I should thank him, or at least offer up a kind smile for his generosity, but I find my eyes evading him once more. I don't know what to say or how to act, and I'm sure it shows, but I hope he's not getting his feelings hurt by my lack of enthusiasm. He speaks up, "So, are you ready to go inside?"

I'm thankful he made the attempt at escaping this uncomfortable lingo we're stuck in, so I answer right away, "It beats standing out here in the fog."

This time I smile and it feels more real - - more _me_. I don't want to set myself up for a disaster dinner by going into it with a negative attitude, especially since I'm a big believer that you get out of life exactly what you put into it. If I want my relations with Chris to improve, I need to go in believing we've got a fighting chance, so I wave him towards the door, because the sooner we get inside, the sooner we can talk all our unresolved business out. Instead of following my gesture, he ushers me ahead and I pause upon reaching the door, testing him to see if he'll care enough to open the door for me the way he used to.

Not one to disappoint, he reaches around me and pulls it open, leaning in to say, "Ladies first."

His breath warms the side of my neck and sends a flurry of raw passion swirling through my abdomen. I find it incredible he's still able to have that affect on me, but there's no reason he wouldn't. I can't magically stop being attracted to him just because we're not official any longer, and I won't even bother to try, because I have better things to use my efforts on. I whisper some quick words of thanks, because I seem to be having a difficult time finding my regular voice. When we get inside, the restaurant is a tad bit crowded, but not bad enough that we have to wait on a table, and we're lead to a wonderful open booth shortly after entering.

Now, call me crazy, but I see no reason Chris and I should spend the evening having to speak across a large table to each other in this massive booth. We can squeeze in together on one side and talk quietly, probably even get a lot resolved, so when I sit down, I make it a point to scoot towards the middle of my side of the booth, and that way, Chris can get in next to me. I settle in and glance up to see what he's waiting for but find his eyes darting back and forth between me and the other side of the booth. I thought the point of this dinner was so we could close the gap forming between us, but if he doesn't even like me enough to sit next to me, I don't see how we will ever accomplish that.

There's no reason for us to sit through this dinner if there isn't going to be a genuine effort made, and my eyes flash with rage for a few seconds. I don't want to let him get to me like that, but I can't help it. I scoot to the outer edge of the booth to make it clear I don't give a damn whether or not he sits next to me, which obviously isn't true, but if he wants to be uppity, I'll gladly do the same. The menus are handed to us after he sits on the other side, and Chris gives me a light kick under the table, which I'm not entirely sure was accidental, but I ignore it anyway and move my foot. I'm a little insulted to sit at a table with someone who doesn't want much to do with me, but I can't get up and leave now, so I suck it up and look over the menu just before Chris interrupts.

"We agreed to come here together," he pauses, appearing to choose his next words carefully, "so we should at least act like we like each other and have some fun."

I resist the urge to laugh at how contradictory his words and actions are and raise my eyes just enough to meet his, not bothering to lift my head. "How funny you should say that. Maybe try taking some of your own advice, Chris, what do you think about that?"

This is why we don't work. I strive my hardest to keep us together and on the same page, but he's always pulling in the opposite direction. Since I arrived here, I've done everything I could think of to put him at ease, even despite the fact that I'm feeling anything but comfortable, but he just _has_ to pull away and then turn it around on me, as if I'm the reason for our problems. From what I can tell, I'm the only one who's actually putting in a real effort, while he resorts to sitting around waiting for some magic bullet to cure our strained relationship of all its problems.

I wait for the response I know he's capable of, the words that will sweep me right of my feet and into his awaiting arms, but instead, he says, "All right, never mind."

I'm not one to pick at every minute detail of a conversation, but this is getting ridiculous. Chris has seemingly lost the will to even put in an effort to fight for me, and it hurts, but it angers me more than anything else. I've moved heaven and earth for this man, and he sits across the table ignoring me, like I never mattered to him at all. The ire I feel rises, like the steam cloud from a tea kettle, and I try to keep my lid on, but it pops off before I get the chance. Slamming my menu down on the table, I attempt to fight a glare I'm sure is forming in my eyes, as I tap my fingernails against the top of the menu.

The unsettled look in his eyes tells me Chris senses my fury, as do his next words, "Look, I didn't come here to get into it with you. I came because we needed to talk."

I shrug, stubborn as always, and admit, "Well, that's not the vibe I'm getting."

I have a hard time understanding why Chris doesn't know what I want from him. I make it abundantly clear in the way I speak and the things I do, but he's either not paying attention or lacks the capacity to let go and give himself over to me all the way. I anger because he allows outside influences and people to stand in the way of what we have, and it shouldn't be difficult for him to see that. When we're alone, he's so wonderful and, in his arms, I feel safe and secure. Yet, each time we talk, it's the exact same pattern over again: I reach out to Chris, Chris pulls away, and nothing gets resolved. Just once, I wish spending his free time alone with me could be enough, because all I know how to do is my best.

He's made it clear my best isn't good enough.

"I bust my ass to do nice things for you, but nothing is ever good enough," he shoots back, fire in his eyes. "What else do you want from me, Stephanie? You tell me exactly what you want, and I'll do it."

Oh, so now he thinks he has the right to be mad at _me_?

I lean forward in my seat and offer a response I truly feel, deep in my heart, "I shouldn't have to tell you. You should know."

"I really don't want to get into—" Chris begins, but the waiter interrupts and asks if we would like to hear the specials. I, frankly, don't give a damn what they're serving and am seriously rethinking sitting through this dinner. If Chris isn't self-aware enough to understand my needs, then we probably don't belong together in the first place. We order quite punctually before Chris turns his attention back to me.

"I didn't want to fight with you, Steph," he says, while I do my best to pretend I'm ignoring him, even though I'm listening quite intently. "All I'm saying is I'm not a mind reader, and if you want something, I need you to tell me what it is."

"You need to know what I want? Isn't it a little bit late for that?" I ask, growing uncomfortable with the number of people surrounding us who seem to be staring. I'm rarely recognized in public on my own, so it has to be Chris drawing their attention. The last thing I'm prepared to do is have a serious discussion with my ex-boyfriend while everyone else gets to watch. We're not a television show - - this is our real life, and I'll be damned if I'm going to have my personal feelings on display for all to witness.

"No, it's never too late for us to be together if we think we can work this out," he whispers, and I know then that he's noticed everyone watching us too.

"We can't talk about this here. Let's just have dinner and we'll talk when we get back to your hotel room."

"That sounds like a plan," Chris says.

Now that we're holding the serious discussion off until later, I feel my body relax. I was more anxious than I thought about having to sort through the mess keeping Chris and I apart, so I'm thankful I'll have extra time - - plus the car ride to his hotel - - to figure out what I want to say and how I want to explain it. He takes a sip of his drink across the table, unaware I'm watching, and I have to actively fight the urge to tell him how much I love him. Those are words better saved for when we're really alone, so for now, I'll settle for a dinner with the only man I have ever felt so deeply in love and safe with. No matter where I am in the world, I feel right at home with him.

Home isn't a place.

Home is a person, and his name is Chris.


End file.
